ne'er get took in partner by nobody. I'm not i' luck loike some—an' I nivver war, 'ceptin' when I getten thee."
"If tha'd keep thy nose out o' th' beer-mug tha'd do well enow," said Mrs. Briarley.
But this did not dispel Mr. Briarley's despondency. He only wept afresh.
"Nay, Sararann," he said, "it is na beer, it's misforchin. I all us wur misforchnit—'ceptin' when I getten thee."
"Things is i' a bad way," he proceeded, afterward. "Things is i' a bad way. I nivver seed 'em i' th' reet leet till I heerd Foxy Gibbs mak' his speech to-neet. Th' more beer he getten th' eleyquenter he wur. Theer'll be trouble wi' th' backbone an' sinoo, if theer is na suinmat done."
"What art tha drivin' at?" fretted his wife. "I canna mak' no sense out o' thee."
"Canna tha?" he responded. "Canna thee, Sararann? Well, I dunnot wonder. It wur a good bit afore I straightened it out mysen. Happen I hannot getten things as they mout be yet. Theer wur a good deal o' talk an' a good deal o' beer, an' a man as has been misforchnit is loike to be slow."
After which he fell into a deep and untroubled slumber, and it being found impossible to rouse him, he spent the remainder of the night in Granny Dixon's chair by the fire, occasionally startling the echoes of the silent room by a loud and encouraging "Eer-eer!"
During the following two weeks, Haworth did not go to the Ffrench's. He spent his nights at his own house in dull and sullen mood. At the Works, he kept his word as regarded Ffrench. That gentleman's lines had scarcely
